


Not Even At All

by castiowl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You, Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angry Steve Rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bets & Wagers, Bucky is Patrick, Drunk Steve Rogers, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Hipster Steve Rogers, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Natasha is Bianca, Paintball, Party, Partying, Poetry, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prom, Punk Bucky Barnes, SJW Steve Rogers, Smoking, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve is Kat, You don't need to have watched 10 Things to read this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nick Fury implements a new rule on his kids, that Natasha can't date unless Steve does, she thinks all hope is lost. </p><p>Or maybe her salvation is in the form of one Bucky Barnes. He just needs a little monetary incentive to take out her brother. What's the worst that could happen?</p><p>Or the "10 Things I Hate About You" Steve/Bucky AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even At All

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I was watching "10 Things I Hate About You" with my sisters and was like, "You know what a really good Steve/Bucky AU would be??" so then I wrote this. 
> 
> You don't need to have seen the movie to read this. But if you haven't seen it _what the fuck is wrong with you????_
> 
> You also don't need to have read "The Taming of the Shrew" by Shakespeare, which the movie is based on because that is literally the worst, most sexist play ever. So just watch the movie. Do yourself a favor.

It all started with The Rule. 

“The Rule is,” Nick said, standing in front of his adopted son and daughter, hands on his hips, and un-eyepatched eye shooting daggers at them, “Natasha can’t date until Steve does.” Nick looked very proud of his new rule. It was foolproof.

Natasha made an exasperated noise and stormed off to her room. Steve just crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “So, can we talk about art school now?”

  


* * *

  


Natasha couldn’t believe her luck. Or her father. Or her stupid _brother_ who avoided all things social and normal for the company of a sketchbook or a paintbrush. She probably wouldn’t be able to date until Steve died, she realized.

The Stupid Rule was implemented the week she got asked out, of course. _Twice._ Her new French tutor, Clint, was unassuming and awkward but had the best smile. Then there was Brock who was, well, he was _Brock_. He didn’t need to be _explained_. 

Anyway, none of it mattered because of The Stupid Rule. There was no getting around The Rule. 

So she supposed she would just have to work _with_ The Rule.

It was really Clint’s idea first, but it was brilliant. Find someone to date Steve! Of course, it was a feat and it would involve a lot of bribery or heavy drugs or something, but it was worth it if she could go to Tony’s party on Saturday. Brock would be there. And Clint, probably. The whole entire high school would be there and so she needed to be there. 

And who better to date Steve than the second most ornery, pigheaded person in the school, Bucky Barnes? The guy was a delinquent with his long hair, combat boots, and leather jacket. Rumor was he spent the last year as a KGB assassin in Russia or something. Just the kind of guy who’d be stupid enough to spend more than ten minutes with Steve. And it only had to be for one night.

  


* * *

  


The key was getting Bucky to agree to the plan. Clint needed an incentive. Sam thought it was a bad idea, but Sam was also not as desperately in love as Clint was, so he could put a sock in it. If he had to get this punk to date Natasha’s brother, then he damn well would.

“Bucky Barnes?” Clint asked, casually leaning against the workshop table Bucky was standing behind.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow and lit a blowtorch dangerously close to where Clint’s hand was. Clint yelped and backed up. “Look, I have a question. No, a request! For you. If you… have time.” Clint was losing his nerve as he watched Bucky meld two pieces of metal together to create – what the hell was that?

“Go away,” Bucky said, flipping the blowtorch off and then aiming it at Clint’s chest. 

“Right, yeah, of course! My mistake.” Clint slunk away. Sam laughed the whole way.

Okay, so he needed an incentive. That was fine. Clint wasn’t exactly loaded, but he knew someone just as interested in The Rule as he was who _was_ loaded: Brock Rumlow.

“So Nat can’t date ‘til Steve dates,” Clint continued, nervously wiping his palms on his jeans, hoping Brock’s wrestling team cronies couldn’t tell he was sweating as much as he was. “So, all we gotta do is-“

“We?” Brock repeated carefully.

“You. All _you_ gotta do is find a date for Steve.”

Brock laughed. “No one in their right mind wants to date that loner freak.”

“Well, that’s the good news. We already found the guy for the job. He just needs that little extra push from you.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky eyed the money hungrily. That could buy him two packs a day for at least a week. And all he had to do was sweep some artsy kid off his feet? This was gonna be a walk in the park.

It was not, in fact, a walk in the park.

Steve was fucking _prickly_. The first day Bucky observed Steve, he realized he’d gotten it all wrong. One foul word and Steve would round on you and start spouting nonsense about society and justice and politics and whatever else you stuck around long enough to hear. Bucky actually saw the kid throw a punch at a basketball player for calling the English teacher “retarded.” His bony little fist basically ricocheted off the guy’s abs and then Steve was flattened with a single smack.

Bucky shook his head and helped Steve off the cement. The basketball team was already halfway back inside the building, laughing loudly and shouting some choice profanities behind them.

“I don’t need your help,” Steve muttered, wiping the gravel off the palm of his hands and frowning at the blood there. 

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“Had ‘im on the ropes,” Steve added.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up at him, the surly expression at odds with his wide blue eyes and soft blonde hair. “I know who you are,” Steve said bitterly.

“And I know who you are,” Bucky replied. “Well, as of today, anyway.”

“We’re in the same English class,” Steve said and he started to walk toward the parking lot. 

Bucky walked beside him. “Yeah, I don’t go much.”

“I noticed.”

“So you noticed me,” Bucky said with a sly grin. He was happy to see Steve’s ears turn pink. 

“No. I mean, yes, but not- What the hell do you want?”

Bucky pulled the flyer out of his pocket and held it out to Steve. “Come to Tony’s party with me.”

Steve actually guffawed. “Fuck off,” he said. Steve stopped at his car, opened the door and climbed in. 

Bucky watched him drive away, a little bit in awe.

  


* * *

  


“Your brother is apparently an ‘impossible little fire demon’ – I’m quoting, here – who ‘is more akin to a porcupine than an actual human being’.” Clint put down his phone and frowned at Natasha. “Is he really that bad?”

“Worse,” Natasha assured him. “Bucky having a hard time asking him out, I take it?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Clint said, pocketing his phone. “It doesn’t help that the guy knows next to nothing about him.”

“Well, that’s easy. Here, gimme your phone,” Natasha said, holding her hand out. Clint gave her his phone and she started typing furiously on it. A couple minutes later she handed it back. “Now Bucky knows everything he needs to know to make Steve weak in the knees.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky wasn’t sure who Andrea Gibson was or what he was doing surrounded by girls in berets and guys who probably unironically enjoyed the taste of Pabst, but he supposed he should probably earn the money Brock had given him. Bucky sat in a seat near the edge of the theatre so he could see when Steve entered. Steve was late to the – what do they call these? Performances? Once Bucky caught sight of him, he waited until Steve walked right past his seat and he stuck out his foot. Steve tripped but caught himself. He turned around to apologize and his face immediately dropped.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Steve hissed.

Bucky raised his eyebrows, feigning perfect innocence. “Sir, would you mind not talking during the show? I’m really trying to learn something here. If you need a seat, there’s one right here.” Bucky motioned to the one next to him.

Steve frowned deeply, looked around the crowded theatre, and then took the seat next to Bucky.

Poetry still wasn’t Bucky’s thing, but he also didn’t fall asleep, so that was something. 

“Her stuff is great, but I think I’m more of a Sarah Kay fan,” Bucky said as people filed past them out of the theatre.

“You- You know who Sarah-? Hey!” Steve called as Bucky pushed his way out with the crowd.

Once they were outside, Bucky lit a cigarette and waited. Sure enough, Steve found him and asked, out of breath, “How do you know who Sarah Kay is?”

“How do _you_?” Bucky asked. He took a drag and watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. He took a step away and Bucky looked over at him. “You okay?” he asked.

“Asthma,” Steve replied, staring at the ground.

“Shit,” Bucky said, and he dropped the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. “Sorry.”

“Fine,” Steve said.

“You usually go to these things alone?” Bucky asked, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets.

Steve studied Bucky’s face for a moment. “I should go,” he said. He turned and started walking away.

“Come to Tony’s party with me!” Bucky shouted after him. 

Steve turned back and rolled his eyes. “I don’t go to parties!” 

“Is that a no?”

“No!”

Bucky grinned. “I’ll pick you up at 9:30!”

  


* * *

  


The party was amazing. It was a Tony Stark party, so Natasha wasn’t exactly surprised, but still. There was a heated pool and a full open bar with a _bartender_ who must have been paid a lot to serve this many minors, and there was a dance floor and an amazing DJ.

More importantly, Brock was there. And Brock only had eyes for Natasha. He handed her a drink and grinned. “Wanna dance?” he asked.

Natasha spotted Clint across the room and she smiled weakly. She should say hi to him at some point, but right now she was needed elsewhere. She grinned at Brock. “What are we waiting for?”

  


* * *

  


Steve looked amazing. He wasn’t necessarily Bucky’s _type_ , per se. But only because Steve seemed to be one-of-a-kind. No one that short and skinny could pull off skinny jeans that well without looking skeletal. His hair, which usually fell in front of his face, was pushed back, and he’d forgone his thick-rimmed glasses for contacts.

“I’m only doing this for my sister,” Steve had told Bucky when Bucky had shown up at his front door at 9:30 sharp.

“Of course you are,” Bucky said with a smirk. He nodded politely at a stern-looking man with an eyepatch who could only be their father. The man just frowned deeper, instilling a sense of deep foreboding in Bucky.

At the party, Steve was unusually social. Apparently, the guy had _friends_ , although you’d never guess that from watching him skulk around school. Then again, that’s what people thought about Bucky, too. And Bucky had friends. Well, Bucky had Morita, Dum-Dum, Falsworth, James, Jacques, and Gabe who were more like begrudging and only somewhat friendly outcasts. More importantly, they were military brats who had been wrenched from school-to-school and knew making friends was a luxury.

Apparently the new kid Clint was a brat, too.

Bucky watched Steve meander through the main area of Tony’s Stark’s mansion. Bucky could tell that Steve had his eye on his sister who was currently dancing with Brock. Bucky didn’t know much about the guy other than he was on the wrestling team, but Steve clearly didn’t like him.

Which would explain why when Brock ushered Natasha upstairs, hand on her waist, Steve beelined for the bar and went straight for the hard stuff. 

Three shots of tequila later and Steve was wasted. At some point, Steve ended up on a pool table dancing to a Ke$ha song. Bucky watched, half in awe, because no one that thin should be able to dance like a bona fide _stripper_. Bucky even felt the familiar and uncomfortable coil of heat in his belly when Steve dropped his hips and his shirt rode up, revealing the outline of a tattoo near his pelvic bone. 

Almost the entire dance floor had stopped to watch Steve make a spectacle of himself, people cheering or possibly jeering; it was hard to tell. Then Steve stood up too fast, knocked his head on the low-hanging light, and toppled straight into Bucky’s arms.

“Let’s take a break,” Bucky said, a bemused smile on his face.

Steve groaned. “I don’t need your help,” he mumbled, but he didn’t resist when Bucky led him outside.

Bucky found a set of swings far enough away from the blaring music that Bucky’s hearing started to come back. “Sit here,” Bucky said, leading Steve toward the swing.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, leaning heavily against chain holding the swing up. He closed his eyes and Bucky lurched forward to catch him before he fell. “Why are you doing this?” Steve asked weakly.

“You may have a concussion.”

“You don’t care if I never wake up,” Steve countered.

Bucky smiled. “Sure I do.”

“Why?”

“Because then I’d have to start taking out guys who actually like me.”

“Like you could find one.”

“See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”

Steve sighed heavily. 

“What’s with you and Brock, anyway?” Bucky asked.

“I hate him.”

“Well, you’ve chosen the perfect revenge: mainlining tequila.”

Steve laughed lightly and dropped his head against his hand. His eyes fluttered closed and Bucky dropped in front of him. “Steve? Steve, wake up! Look at me, pal. Listen! Open your eyes, Steve.” He patted Steve’s cheek lightly until he opened his eyes. His blues slowly focused on Bucky.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. “Your eyes have a little green in them.”

Bucky let out a relieved laugh just before Steve leaned forward and vomited at Bucky’s feet.

  


* * *

  


Natasha’s suspicions had been true. In all fairness, she’d thought they were true awhile ago, but it was disheartening to have them validated so thoroughly.

After about the tenth attempt by Brock to show Natasha the same wrestling move on a lifeless pillow, she’d slipped away. Then her brother had made a fool of himself in front of everyone; no doubt she’d be hearing about that in school on Monday. She sighed and stepped outside. She realized then that she didn’t have a ride home. 

That’s when she caught sight of Clint. 

“Hey,” she said, coming up to stand next to him. 

He turned to her, but he looked upset about something. “Hi, Natasha.”

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Where’s Brock?”

Natasha scoffed. “Probably still wrestling that body pillow I left him with half an hour ago,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Clint seemed to brighten at that.

“Um. Can you drive me home?” she asked.

Clint smiled. “Sure thing.”

  


* * *

  


Every turn roiled Steve’s stomach. He pushed his temple against the cool glass of the window and waited for the car to stop. Something told him it was weird that he was letting Bucky drive _his car_ home, but he was too sick to care. This was so _stupid_. God, he was the worst kind of drunk: the kind that took every bad thing currently happening in his life and conglomerated it until he couldn’t see straight anymore. Drinking was supposed to make you feel _better_ , for fuck’s sake, not remind you of every lousy decision you’d ever made.

“I want to draw,” Steve said to himself. Although it apparently wasn’t to himself because Bucky replied.

“How ‘bout when you sober up? Although it might be cool to draw drunk. Can’t say I’ve tried.”

Steve groaned and looked over at him. “Not right now. Just in general. I want to _draw_. Be an artist. Draw!”

Bucky smiled and Steve scowled at him. 

“So, do it,” Bucky said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, my dad would love that.”

“You don’t strike me as the type that would ask your father’s permission.”

“Oh, so now you think you know me?”

“I’m getting there,” Bucky replied.

Steve turned to look out the window. He’d somehow made it home. “The only thing people know about me is that I’m _scary_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no picnic myself.”

Steve looked back at Bucky and, well, he really _wasn’t_ that bad, was he? 

“So what’s up with your dad, anyway?” Bucky asked. “Is he a pain in the ass?”

“No. He just wants me to be someone I’m not.”

“Who?”

“Natasha. Y’know, bright and social and conforming.”

“Ah. Natasha. Well, no offense or anything, but she’s without.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a long moment. “Y’know, you’re not as vile as I thought you were.” And because his mind and body weren’t on speaking terms, he leaned forward and closed his eyes. He expected the soft brush of Bucky’s lips against his, a warm hand on his neck and cheek. 

Instead he got an awkward, “Maybe we should do this another time.” 

Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach and he recoiled. He pushed open the car door and slammed it behind him. He was such an _idiot_.

  


* * *

  


“I’m sorry,” Natasha said, staring through the car window at her house.

“For what?” Clint said. She glanced over at him. He looked tired.

“For dragging you along. I shouldn’t have.”

“You didn’t-“

“I did,” she cut in. “I made you think you had a chance when I was really just interested in Brock. That was really awful of me.”

Clint didn’t reply, so she knew she was right. She was such an _idiot_.

“I should’ve known better about Brock. He’s a loser. Like, a real tragedy. Seriously,” she said. Clint laughed at that and she smiled. “Thanks for driving me home, Clint.”

“Yeah. Any time.”

She looked at him and his stupid unruly hair and goofy crooked smile. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled back, he looked stunned.

“I’ll see you Monday,” she said easily and got out of the car.

“Yeah,” Clint replied weakly, a tired smile on his face. “Monday.”

  


* * *

  


The day after the party was a Sunday, so Steve spent it shopping for art supplies. Even if Bucky had spurned his drunken love, their conversation had sparked a newfound interest in art. He still was vying for art school. But where before it seemed like a pipe dream – an impossibility, given Nick’s strong opinion against it, now it looked more like a _goal_.

Part of Nick’s resistance was expense and as Steve stared down at the $200 pack of 72-count Prisma Color markers, he remembered why he’d found Nick’s argument so valid. He didn’t need the markers, but god, they were nice. He bought three sketchbooks and a few off-brand pencils instead.

  


* * *

  


Monday was easily one of the worst days of Steve’s life. He didn’t remember _much_ from the party, but he pretty much had the gist by the end of third period. Basically, he’d made a fool of himself and now the entire school thought he was working part-time at that male strip club, Legz.

Not that he cared.

Worse than the rumors was Bucky. He remembered how he’d tried to kiss that stupid boy and that stupid boy had actually said _no_. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so offended, but he was. 

It didn’t help that Bucky had been following him around, running into Steve all day trying to flirt with him. Maybe that was his way of apology, but Steve wouldn’t have it. Steve had acted like an idiot twice now with Bucky around and he wasn’t going to fall for it again. 

Natasha needed a ride home from soccer practice after school, so Steve pulled a sketchbook out of his bag and got comfortable on the bleachers. He should probably start that English project; they had to write a poem inspired by a Shakespeare sonnet, but there was plenty of time for that. It wasn’t due until next week. 

Steve fell into the comfortable artistic headspace he’d missed so much and didn’t come out until he heard music. Well, not music exactly, just _singing_.

_“You’re just too good to be true.  
Can’t take my eyes off of you.”_

Steve glanced up and noticed the entire soccer team had stopped practicing to look at the bleachers across from where Steve was sitting. 

_You’d be like heaven to touch.  
I wanna hold you so much._

Steve finally found the source of the singing in the form of Bucky Barnes, sliding down the speaker pole and landing lightly on the bleachers across the field.

_At long last love has arrived.  
And I thank God I’m alive._

Why was he doing this? Oh god, was this for _Steve_? Oh god, oh god, why?

_You’re just too good to be true.  
Can’t take my eyes off of you._

Steve let out a surprised laugh and put his sketchbook to the side. He stood and walked slowly onto the field, watching Bucky carefully.

The marching band took up the song, blaring the accompaniment to the song. Steve’s smile widened as Bucky did some ridiculous dance move on the bleachers.

_I love you, baby! And if it’s quite all right,_  
_I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night._  
_I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say…_

Steve made it to the edge of the field and Bucky climbed his way down the bleachers, staring right at him. Steve could feel everyone watching him as Bucky danced around, looking absolutely ridiculous, a huge smile on his face.

_Oh, pretty baby, don’t let me down, I pray._  
_Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay._  
_And let me love you, baby, let me love you.”_

Bucky sat and his smile turned from gleeful to something else entirely. Steve swallowed nervously. His eyes caught movement to the side and he saw two security guards appear. They made for Bucky who quickly dashed away while the band continued to play. Bucky led the chase around the bleachers, dodging them and laughing. Steve couldn't help but laugh along.

Okay, so maybe Bucky wasn’t all bad.

  


* * *

  


Steve was waiting by his car when Bucky got out of detention at 5. Steve watched his face light up and he jogged over.

“You waited,” Bucky said, surprised.

“I dropped off Nat at home and came back, actually,” Steve said.

Bucky grinned. “Even better.”

  


* * *

  


“So, what’s your excuse?” Bucky asked.

“For what?”

“Acting the way you do.”

“I don’t like to do what people expect,” Steve replied. They were seated on a patch of grass, shoes kicked off and soaking up the unseasonably warm weather. Steve laid back. “Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

“So you disappoint them from the start and then you’re covered, right?” Bucky asked, leaning over and propping himself up on his elbow to watch Steve.

“Something like that,” Steve replied, closing his eyes.

“Then you’re screwed,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. 

Steve looked at him, brow furrowed. “How?”

“You never disappointed me.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a long moment.

“You up for it?” Bucky asked.

“For what?”

Bucky’s eyes looked somewhere past Steve and Steve turned to look. “Paintball” was painted on a wooden sign. Steve grinned mischievously.

  


* * *

  


Turned out Bucky was a good shot. And also a lot sneakier than his size would have you believe. But Steve had his fair share of lucky shots, even once shooting him right in the ass. It wasn’t surprising, then, when Bucky came up right behind Steve and aimed his gun at his head.

“Give it up, Rogers,” he said in a faux-macho voice.

“Never, Barnes,” Steve mocked right back.

Steve turned quickly and shot Bucky right in the chest, laughing hysterically as Bucky pouted down at the now painted, plastic armor. 

“Oh, you’ll regret that,” Bucky said. He dropped the gun and ran at Steve, picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

Steve laughed so hard he started coughing. Bucky put him down quickly, eyes wide with concern. Steve just shook his head. “I’m fine,” he promised. “Just need to breathe.”

“You sure?”

Steve nodded, taking a few deep breaths until the tightness in his chest relinquished. 

“Well, if you’re sure,” Bucky said with a slight quirk of his mouth. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Steve’s.

At first, Steve didn’t react, so Bucky started to pull back, then Steve’s body caught up with his mind and he lurched forward to drag Bucky back, kissing him hard.

Bucky smiled into the kiss and it was just about the best thing Steve had ever felt.

  


* * *

  


“Okay, you gotta tell me which of the rumors are true,” Steve said, leading the way up to his house.

“None of them,” Bucky replied.

Steve sat on the top stair of the porch. Bucky sat next to him.

“So you never set a state trooper on fire?”

Bucky laughed. “No. How about you? The dead guy in the parking lot?”

“Rumor. Did you actually eat a live duck?”

“Hearsay. Bobby Ridgeway’s balls?”

“Fact. But he deserved it. He groped Natasha in the lunch line.”

“Fair enough.”

“Where were you last year? I know the KGB thing is a lie.”

“Do you?” Bucky looked so serious, Steve almost believed him, but then he broke and started laughing. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Okay, tell me something true,” Steve said. “Something no one else knows.”

“Something true? Okay. You’re amazing.” Bucky leaned forward and ghosted his lips across Steve’s neck. “And sexy. And sweet. And completely hot for me.” 

“You’re amazingly self-assured. Has anyone ever told you that?” Steve said.

“I tell myself that every day, actually,” Bucky said, pulling back to smile. Then he kissed Steve on the mouth, sweet and slow. “Go to the prom with me,” he said.

“Is that a request or a command?” Steve asked.

“C’mon, go with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?” Bucky repeated.

“Because I don’t want to. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“People won’t expect you to go.”

Steve frowned. “Why are you pushing this? What’s in it for you?”

“What, I need a motive to be with you?” Bucky asked, leaning away and looking hurt.

“You tell me,” Steve replied, obstinate.

Bucky scoffed. “You’ve got problems, Rogers. Anyone ever told you that?”

“Answer the question, Bucky.” Steve crossed his arms.

“Nothing!” Bucky snapped. “There is nothing in it for me. Just the pleasure of your company, okay?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. 

Steve felt his blood boil. He knocked the pack out of Bucky’s hand and stormed inside the house, slamming the door behind him.

  


* * *

  


Steve knocked lightly on Natasha’s door.

“Come in,” Natasha said. She was laid out on her bed flipping through a magazine.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked.

“No one’s stopping you.”

Steve sighed. “Look, I know you’re upset that I’m not going to the prom. But I just can’t.”

“You _can_. You just don’t want to. There’s a difference.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of Natasha’s bed. “I used to date Brock.”

“Right.”

Steve waited Natasha to look at him. When she did, her eyes widened and she sat up. “You’re serious?”

Steve nodded. “For a month. When we were freshmen.”

“You hate him! What happened?”

“We… _y’know._ ” Steve gave Natasha a pointed look and she looked horrified.

“Oh my _God_! Why didn’t you _tell me_?”

Steve shrugged. “I figured you should come up with your own opinion of him.”

“So what happened?” Natasha asked.

“I regretted it basically immediately afterward.” Steve smiled sadly. “And after that I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever do anything just because other people said it was what I was _supposed_ to do. And when I told Brock that I didn’t want to do it again, he dumped me.”

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Natasha said, shaking her head. “But… if you wanted me to make my own opinions, then why side with Dad on The Stupid Rule?”

“Because… I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? Steve, I’m not _stupid_. I can make my own choices. I’m not gonna make a fool of myself like you did.”

That stung, but maybe it wasn’t totally uncalled for. 

“I wanna be alone,” Natasha said, turning back to her magazine. “Got a lot of reading to do since I’m not going to the prom, I guess.”

  


* * *

  


There was a knock on Natasha’s bedroom door again. “Go away, Steve!” she called out. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

The door handle turned and Steve stepped in. Natasha groaned and turned to yell at him, but then she saw him. In a tux. Steve was wearing a tux.

“What the hell are you still doing in your PJs?” Steve asked, eyes wide. “You’re gonna be late!”

Natasha smiled widely and ran over to hug Steve tightly.

  


* * *

  


Steve had been hesitant before to consider Bucky attractive, mostly because beneath that ruggedly badass exterior was a genuinely handsome guy and Steve liked to think he was above all that. But staring at him now with his well-fitted tux, Steve couldn’t deny it: Bucky was attractive as hell.

“Lookin’ good,” Bucky said with a grin. He handed a rose to Steve and he pinned it to his lapel. 

“Shall we?” Steve asked, offering his arm.

They made their way to the dance floor. They danced. Steve glanced over to see Natasha cheek-to-cheek with Clint. Steve smiled at them when Natasha caught his eye. 

“Brooklyn,” Bucky said to Steve.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Brooklyn. That’s where I was last year. Not in the mafia. I was spending time with my mom. She moved there when she and my dad divorced.”

Steve went to reply, but they were yanked apart by Brock who shoved a finger against Bucky’s chest. “Hey!” he said. “What the hell is Natasha doing with _Clint_? I didn’t pay you to take out Steve so that some little punk could snake Natasha right out from under me!”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to convince himself that he’d heard wrong, but there was no denying what Brock had just said. 

Bucky looked at Steve, a desperate expression on his face. “Steve,” he said.

“Nothing in it for you, huh?” Steve said coldly. He turned on his heel and stormed out.

  


* * *

  


Natasha laughed at Clint’s joke and leaned closer to place a kiss on his cheek. Clint smiled.

Suddenly, Brock was there, separated only by a placating Sam with his hands raised. “Look, Brock, we don’t want no trouble.”

Brock pushed Sam aside and came at Clint. Clint backed away as Brock said, “You messed with the wrong guy, Barton. You’re gonna pay. You and that little bitch.”

“Hey, that’s enough!” Clint said sternly. “You’ve gone too far.”

Brock’s fist swung forward and collided with Clint’s face, knocking him to the ground. “Oh c’mon, you punk. Get up!” Brock shouted. He turned, thinking he’d won. But Natasha swung hard and her fist connected with his nose. He yelped and grabbed his nose. “Shit, what the hell, Natasha?”

“That’s for punching my date,” Natasha spat. She threw another punch. “That’s for my brother.” She kneed him in the crotch. “And that’s for me.” Brock crumpled to the floor.

Natasha kneeled down in front of Clint, who was staring at her in awe. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He smiled widely. “Never better,” he said.

She put both hands on either side of his face and kissed him.

  


* * *

  


Steve was close to the front door when someone grabbed his arm and turned him.

“Steve, wait,” Bucky said desperately.

“Wait? For what? You were _paid_ to take me out by the one guy I can’t _stand_! I knew this was a set-up!”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Really? What was it like? A down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?”

“No! I didn’t care about the money, okay? I cared… I care about you.”

Steve scoffed. “You’re not the person I thought you were.” Steve turned to leave, but Bucky grabbed him again and kissed him. Steve pushed him hard against the chest and stormed off.

  


* * *

  


Steve doodled idly in his sketchbook on the front porch. Natasha came outside and offered him a cup of tea. He took it gratefully, pushing his sketchbook to the side.

“I never thanked you for going last night,” Natasha said quietly. “It meant a lot to me. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Steve said.

Clint appeared, walking up the front steps and smiling at Natasha. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah. See ya, Steve.”

Steve waved at them as they disappeared around the corner. Nick came out, watching them leave with a frown on his face.

“Where is she going?”

“On a date. With a boy.”

Nick just frowned deeper, but didn’t reply. Finally, he said, “How was the dance?”

“Fantastic,” Steve deadpanned, picking up his sketchbook again.

“Really?”

“Mm. Especially the part where Natasha punched a guy. Several times. In the face.”

“She did _what_?”

“What’s the matter?” Steve snapped. “Upset that I rubbed off on her?”

“No. I’m impressed,” Nick replied.

Steve smiled, surprised. 

“Y’know, fathers don’t like to admit it when their kids are capable of running their own lives,” Nick said thoughtfully. “It means we’ve become spectators. Natasha still lets me play a few innings. You’ve had me benched for years. And when you go to Pratt, I won’t even be able to watch the game.”

That took a moment to process. “Wait,” Steve said. “You mean…?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind. I’ve already sent ‘em a check.”

Steve actually shouted with joy, jumping off the railing to hug Nick tightly.

  


* * *

  


Steve was grateful that the school was too busy talking about Natasha’s stunt at the prom to remember how badly he’d been humiliated. He’d somehow avoided seeing Bucky all day, but then English class rolled around and he was actually there.

Fine. Steve wanted him to hear it.

Steve was the first to volunteer to read his poem. He stood in front of the class, head held high, and he read: 

“I hate the way you talk to me  
And the way you cut your hair.  
I hate the way you drive my car.  
I hate it when you stare.  
I hate your big, dumb combat boots  
And the way you read my mind.  
I hate you so much it makes me sick.  
It even makes me rhyme.  
I hate the way you’re always right.  
I hate it when you lie.  
I hate it when you make me laugh;  
Even worse when you make me cry.  
I hate it when you’re not around  
And the fact that you didn’t call,  
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you;  
Not even close;  
Not even a little bit;  
Not even at all.”

Steve’s voice cracked and he leveled a glare at Bucky before leaving the classroom.

  


* * *

  


Steve made it to his car in record time. It seemed like things were back to normal. He was back to being ignored by the majority of the school and frankly, that was fine with him.

He opened the front door of his car and froze. He leaned down and picked up the pack of markers. 

“Nice, huh?” 

Steve turned to see Bucky standing with his hands in his pockets, an apologetic smile on his face. 

Steve let out a laugh. “These are… This is too much,” he said.

Bucky shrugged. “I had a little extra cash lying around. Some total dickhole paid me take out this great guy.” He grinned and Steve let out a laugh despite himself.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, but I screwed up. I, um, I fell for him.” Bucky actually blushed and _Jesus, he was cute, wasn’t he? Focus, Rogers._

“You can’t just buy me art supplies every time you screw up, y’know,” Steve said.

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, I know. But then, there’s always parchment and colored pencils and erasers and an easel – do you use an easel? And sketchbooks and-“

Steve leaned forward, pressing his mouth against Bucky’s to shut him up. He pulled back, and tried to look serious. “But don’t think that just because-,” he started, but then Bucky leaned forward and kissed him right back. 

“This isn’t over,” Steve protested, pulling back.

Bucky smiled his perfectly crooked smile. “I certainly hope not,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> And it just so happens that Steve's school of choice is in Brooklyn?? Where Bucky has a place to live???? amazing. it's almost like i planned that.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And comments make my world go round. :D


End file.
